© Tide Magazine
Her paintings are filled with elements that resonate with us: our loved ones, our safe spaces, and everyday moments. Franco-Israeli artist Nathanaëlle Herbelin explores the idea that painting can bring both comfort and discomfort. From her studio in eastern Paris, she invites us to experience the intimacy of her work and her connection to the concept of familiarity.
ANNE BOURRASSÉ Regarding the two concepts in this Tide issue – comfort and sensation – I’d like to discuss both the comfort you experience as a painter and the sensations your work evokes. Let’s begin with your roots and the historical origins of pictorial sensation, starting with the Impressionist movement. This movement aimed to express emotions through gesture, colour, and materiality, breaking away from classicism. Has this influenced your work? Which artistic movements, whether European or Middle Eastern, have inspired you?
NATHANAËLLE HERBELIN Impressionism has left a lasting mark on me, as has Symbolism. I often return to books on these movements and enjoy visiting the MET in New York to study these paintings – particularly those of the Swiss artist Ferdinand Hodler, who's quite the risk-taker. I'm also drawn to the French master Poussin and other artists whose loose, untamed gestures break away from tradition. In Israel, there is another trend that fascinates me, known as דלות החומר or "the poverty of matter". It is a minimalist art, an art of the poor. These movements have played a key role in shaping my compositions, including the very pure ones in my paintings that evoke desert landscapes. I find comfort in these paintings; they are my escape when I need to relax.
AB But you've moved away from these minimalist compositions, haven't you? The paintings in your studio now depict scenes of abundant life instead…
NH It’s true that the paintings I create now are much denser than my earlier works, though the symbolism remains. For example, this one was influenced by Egon Schiele – there’s almost a mannerist quality to it, which even surprises me. It carries a certain romanticism. This period of my painting feels much heavier and more melancholic, similar to the grandfather painting, or to these pieces that have a more solemn tone. Yet, they still hold a touch of humor.
AB Nathanaëlle, through your works, I wanted to explore a pictorial idea, the idea that a painting can provide comfort, or what I would like to call "comfort painting", similar to "comfort food". We can feel comforted and reassured by the sight of animals, scenes of daily life, nature, our loved ones, or any image that brings us a sense of well-being.This may be due to the choice of scenes depicted – often set within the "home" environment and in intimate situations. It is also influenced by the soft colours, the depth of the paint layers, and the overall sensation conveyed by your paintings, which is calm and enveloping. Why do your paintings make us feel good? Is it the choice of daily life scenes or the figures you portray?
NH More than comfort, I’m always seeking familiarity. It’s deeply embedded in my culture. I come from the Middle East, where we communicate through familiarity. For example, our language carries this sense of closeness. In Israel, if you want to be polite, you greet someone with "brother, do me a favour", even if you don’t know them. In France, however, it’s essential to set yourself apart by using "vous" and exercising caution. If I approached you on the street and said "sister, do me a favour", it wouldn’t be seen as polite; on the contrary, it could even be perceived as a form of violence. The familiarity in my paintings stems from this – from the trust we build through language and conversation. Painting allows me to explore my roots. Like any artist, I wonder how my work reflects the ongoing conversation I have with my culture. But the feeling of familiarity also depends on perspective. To create an intimate connection with my subjects, I always position myself at eye level. I paint within this inner dialogue. Ultimately, I paint the way I speak. (...)
Translated by Zahra Tavassoli Zea
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